


The Stuff We Are Made Of

by thepottermalfoyproblem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel POV, Gen, Hunt, musings of a former angel, post 8x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepottermalfoyproblem/pseuds/thepottermalfoyproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of Castiel's musings about his life as a human. Dean and Cas friendship. Can be read as pre-slash if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stuff We Are Made Of

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own it. It wouldn't be as good if I did so there.

I am cold. I am dirty. I am tired and hungry. The half-cup of lukewarm coffee I had this morning wore off hours ago. I want nothing more than to climb back into the impala and sleep. But I can't. Dean is counting on me, what with Sam out of commission for the foreseeable future. The trials took a toll on him, his immune system is "shot six ways to Sunday" and his mental health not much better.

I remember how he looked when I turned up at the bunker two days after my fall. Dean had answered the door, peering out cautiously before dragging me inside. I had expected yelling, punches, but instead he pulled me into a hug before leading me to the kitchen and handing me a warm mug of coffee. Sam was sitting at the table, staring into his own mug as if it held the meaning of life. I thought I looked bad, two days as a human and I already had a scraggly beard from being on the road and scrapes on my knees from overcompensating for wings that were no longer there. Sam looked worse. He was positively haggard. His eyes were sunken and dull, he hadn't bothered to shave even though he had the facilities. 

I looked away only when Dean put a hand on my shoulder and led me down the hall to a small room that he said was mine. I must have looked confused, possibly even guilty, because he told me something then that I still don't think I deserve.

"Dude, I just watched your entire family fall from the sky. We weren't on the best of terms when we last saw each other, but I'm gonna let that slide because I know you have to be hurting. I'm thinking this has to be like that year without Sammy, only a thousand times worse. Against my nature and better judgement, I'm gonna forgive and forget, ok Cas?" He squeezed my shoulder and told me to get some rest, leaving me speechless and more than a little shocked, standing in the doorway of my room.

Over the next few weeks, as it became clearer that Sam would be unable to hunt in his condition, Dean took to training me instead. My old reflexes were still there, I could use knives like an extension of my arm, but guns were foreign. Like my reflexes, my old knowledge remained in my mind as well, but applying it is not as simple as remembering ordered facts. We had a few close calls in the beginning, but I improved rapidly, relishing the hunt and how the adrenaline rush reminded me of flight. 

So here I am, crouched in the dirt behind a rotting cabin in the middle of the woods, waiting for Dean's signal. Idly I scrape up a handful of dusty soil from between my feet and let it run through my fingers. God formed humans from this dirt, I think in sudden wonderment. Once I could see all the particles and elements that formed both, but now all I see is a grayish brown powder that sifts slowly though my fingers.

I'm formed from this dirt now too. Jimmy is long gone, he never returned after the Leviathans ripped me - us? - apart. His body is now my body... and how odd a thought that is. I have to eat and sleep and defecate like any other human and I thought humanity would be tedious and taxing. It is anything but. Humanity is warmth and light and I don't know how I missed seeing that all those years I spent watching over the Winchesters.

I shift from foot to foot to keep from having what Dean calls "pins and needles" and glance across to the tree Dean is hiding behind. I can see him, a dark shape against the black of the woods. Formed from dirt, just as I am, but so much more. He is fire as well, a coal burning at his very core. I may no longer be an angel, but I remember what his soul looked like as I placed it back in its earthen container.

It is beautiful, though Dean balks at the term. I smile a little at the thought and then Dean is signaling me. The hunt is on, and I follow my friend, who is made of the same stuff as I, yet shines so much brighter.


End file.
